We enjoyed an evening with friends in their apartment.

They served chicken tagine and carrot salad on bright blue ceramic plates.

And red wine in huge crystal goblets.

It was just after the presidential election and the result was not what any of us had  anticipated.

We talked about it during dinner.

“It’s fucking unbelievable, what the fuck” I said.

“Those assholes that voted for him.  Jesus.” I said.

“And  those misogynistic cunts.” I said

I was on the softer side of drunk.  Meaning I had the run of myself but I wouldn’t have been in any position to operate heavy machinery.

It was a lively, intimate evening among four close friends.

We left our hosts with kisses and hugs.  An hour later they sent us texts, thanking us for being in their lives, for the great conversation, for being who we are.

The next morning you told me that I swore too much.  You said that I should leave the swearing to you.  You reminded me that it isn’t very lady-like to swear like that.

I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “I’m stressed out.  I had too much wine.  I needed to unload.”

What the fuck?

The tables will be turned soon enough, and I will say the same to you and you will laugh.  You’ll think I’m being clever and cute.

Next time remind me that swearing too much detracts from the point you are trying to make.  Remind me of the fine line between effect and affect.  Remind me to consider my audience.

Next time just leave my fucking vagina out of it.